She was fighting now. Her legs were flailing out in front of her, kicking wildly at the air as Donnan lifted her off the ground and carted her away from the sleeping lads. Her screeches had woke a few of the men, most of them so exhausted that not even an attack of fire and lightning from the Holy Father himself could wake them, but he didn’t want to risk it. He needed them rested and alert for the long ride later in the morning.
“Quiet, lass,” Donnan grumbled as he carried Bernadine into the woods, behind the horses. In there, it was dark and cool, the springtime tree cover making it look almost black as night as they walked further into the dense thicket of trees.
“I have no idea what that means, but whatever you want me to do, I will not do it!” Bernadine said, punctuating her outburst with a turn of her head so she could launch a hock of spit aimed at Donnan’s face. He was not quick enough to dodge it, and it landed squarely on his cheek.
That sent him over the edge. Kicking was one thing, but spitting at him? No, it could not be borne. He had to retaliate. Which he did, by dropping Bernadine from his arms, delighted when she landed on her bottom with an “ooph!” and a thump that told him she would be bruised and sore for at least a day. Good. She deserved it.
“You dropped me!” she yelled, staggering into a standing position and whirling back to face him as she rubbed at the sore spot with her hand.
“Aye, and ye deserved it,” Donnan said, crossing his arms and widening his stance. It was almost a reflex, his taking this stance when he felt a fight coming on, though it was the first time he had ever done so with a lass. But then again, Bernadine Nibley was no ordinary lass.
Ordinary lasses did not spit at men, punch them, glare at them with menace in their eyes. Ordinary lasses, in such a situation as the one in which they both found themselves now, cowed to the menfolk in their midst. They cowered before them, realizing that their strength was no match for that of a Scot three heads taller than them and twice their width.
Bernadine, however, had her hands on her hips, and had risen as tall as her perfect posture and long legs would allow her, glaring up at Donnan like she was preparing to take a swing at him. Like she was not one bit afraid of him.
“That was very ungentlemanly,” she said, her voice laced with displeasure.
“Lass, ye ought to ken by now that I’m no gentleman, nor do I claim to be so,” he said, shaking his head and laughing softly at her. This only seemed to enrage her further, as she stomped her feet and seemed to bite back a scream, her face reddening with the effort to keep the noise inside.
“How long do you plan to keep me?” she asked, crossing her arms to mirror his position.
“Keep ye?” he asked.
“Yes. You have kidnapped me. How long do you plan to keep me under your watch before I am able to return home?”
Donnan pondered this. In truth, he had not thought much beyond the act of kidnapping the lass. He wanted her, and he wanted to punish her father, and kidnapping her achieved both those outcomes.
“I…” he stuttered, at a loss for words. Well, in truth, not quite at a loss. What his mouth seemed to want to say was “forever,” but that was rubbish, of course. He could not keep her forever. He’d have to marry her to do that. And he did not want to marry her, or any other lass for that matter. Did he? She was bonny, but was she really a lass worth marrying?
“Well?” Bernadine asked, exasperated.
“I dinnae ken. I’ll let ye ken when I do. For now, let’s assume a while,” he said.
“A while? Are you Scots averse to concrete measures of time? Give me some idea, at least!” she begged, her voice desperate.
“A few weeks,” Donnan replied, adding “to start with” to himself. Because maybe, after a few weeks, Bernadine might not hate him so much. And maybe, after a few weeks, he might like her even more. For all her kicks and screeches and hard looks, she was still the bonniest lass he had ever seen, as beautiful now, covered in mud and grime, as she had been that evening in the ballroom.
Bernadine nodded, reluctantly. “Well, I suppose there is no use in fighting you on that. Lord knows what you might do to me if I defy you. You clearly have no qualms about kidnapping or drugging a woman, so I shudder to imagine what else you are capable of,” she said, glaring at Donnan, clearly hoping her words would cut him.
“I willnae harm ye again, lass. I can promise ye that,” he said, wincing slightly at the withering, disbelieving glare she gave him.
Looks like tha’ make me think she’ll never forgive me.
They made their way back to the camp, and Donnan began to set up the breakfast supplies, lighting a fire over which he could make the morning oat porridge. Bernadine sat down quietly beside him, seemingly lost in the flames as they licked at the leaves and twigs around them.
He was pleased to see that though cowed, she did not look defeated. He wanted her to keep fighting him. He found he quite enjoyed her aggressive side.
Chapter 5
They were nearly at the castle, according to Seamus. Bernadine could barely see through the thick mist that had refused to let up all day, but she trusted the man. Venruit Castle was his home, after all, the home of all the men she had spent the last few days with. They all seemed eager to get back to normal life and had been chattering these last few hours about kissing their women and hugging their children. They seemed almost excited, or as excited as Scotsmen seemed capable of getting.
Seeing them miss their families after so few days apart made the crushing loneliness, the result of her separation from her papa, in Bernadine’s chest all the greater.
“Watch the ground, lads. Looks like the rains have been heavy these last few days,” Donnan called as they continued onward, and sure enough, no sooner had he spoken than Bernadine’s horse abruptly halted.
Looking down, she noticed that its hoof had become momentarily stuck in the mud. She assumed it was a momentary thing, for the mud looked wet enough that a hoof should slip right out. But that was not the case. The horse struggled for minutes trying to free itself, growing agitated as it turned this way and that, swaying so sharply at one point that Bernadine was lurched dangerously to the side, her bottom starting to slide off the saddle.
She climbed back on and patted the poor creature on the flank, trying to soothe it as it strained to release the suction tethering it to the earth. Finally, after a few moments of the horse grumbling and Bernadine contemplating alighting from the saddle and aiding the thing, with a great squelch, the horse was freed.
By this point, the rest of the party was a good thirty feet ahead, having not noticed that Bernadine had stopped, but when her horse neighed in displeasure at its first step forward with a now-muddied hoof, Donnan’s head whirled around at the noise.
“Stop!” Donnan called to his men, looking back at Bernadine. He jumped off his horse and strode toward her. “What happened?” he asked, looking from her to the horse
“His hoof was stuck in the mud, and I think he must have hurt it when he freed himself,” Bernadine said, watching as Donnan approached the stallion and ran his hands softly down its front leg.
Sure enough, the horse neighed again when Donnan tried to lift the horse’s leg to inspect its hoof. He huffed out a breath and sighed. “He’s hurt. We’re near at the castle, so we can take our time, but ye’ll have to ride with me the rest of the way, lass,” he said, standing up and offering her a hand.
“Ride with you? Whatever for?” she asked, not bothering to hide her displeasure at the idea.
“Aye, else ye ‘ll have to walk, and ye shoes ‘ll meet the same fate as the beast’s,” he said, eyeing her flats. While kidnapping her, Donnan had grabbed the shoes next to Bernadine’s bed for her to wear. These were the shoes she slipped on in the mornings to visit the chamber pot and choose her wardrobe. They were soft-soled and made of thin material, the exact opposite of what one needed when traversing muddy, mountainous terrain. Donnan was right, she admitted to herself grudgingly. She would lose both the mi
nute she stepped off the saddle.
Still, she rolled her eyes. “Fine, then. But I can climb down from my horse on my own, thank you very much,” she said, hopping down from the saddle and nearly jumping on Donnan’s toes in the process. It might have been on purpose.
Donnan allowed her to take the front of his saddle, settling himself behind her, the reins for her horse in his hand. He called for the other men to continue on ahead, promising to meet them in the hall once they had arrived.
It was slow going, matching their pace to that of the injured horse, but Bernadine was glad of it. She had grown so sore from riding, plus the fall, or rather, drop, in the forest, that her backside was now in a state of near-constant aching. Her shoulders hurt from sleeping on the ground, her back felt odd, and she found herself turning her torso this way and that, trying to crack a knot she could feel in the middle of her spine.
“Och, what’re ye wigglin’ for?” Donnan grumbled when Bernadine accidentally elbowed him in the rib as she twisted.
“My back is aching, if you must know,” she replied haughtily, not one bit sorry for causing him pain. It was only the beginning of her attempt at evening the score between them.
“Well, I’ll be sure to have the maids draw ye a bath when we get to the castle,” Donnan said. “In the meantime, can I rub it for ye?”
Bernadine turned toward him, her eyebrows raised. “You’re asking to rub my back for me?”
Donnan nodded slowly, like it was obvious. “Aye. Yer in pain, and I can make it better.”
Bernadine considered this. It was improper, but then, had anything that had happened to her in the last few days been proper? Surely propriety and social mores had been thrown out the window the moment she had been carried from her house and into the night in Donnan’s arms.
“All right. But this does not mean I do not still hate you,” she said, turning back to the front.
Donnan laughed at that and handed the injured horse’s reins to her, placing his hands in the middle of her back, right on her spine where she felt the source of the tightness, almost as though he could see the pulsing soreness through her nightgown.
Bernadine couldn’t help but relax into his hands as he pressed a knuckle to her spine, instantly finding the knot and kneading it gently.
Dear God that felt good…
She was so lost in the sensation that it took her a moment to remember the identity of the person making her feel so delicious. And then, when Bernadine realized she had been about to release a moan because Donnan Young was massaging her back, she scooted so far forward in the saddle that she nearly pitched herself right over the poor beast’s nose.
“Och! Lass, what happened?” Donnan cried, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her back. “Did I harm ye?”
“Yes,” Bernadine said shrilly, not bothering to turn around. Unable, really, to turn around, her face aflame with embarrassment. She had let herself be affected by this man, this…monster. Yes, he was a monster. Bernadine would do well to remind herself of that. He might seem kind, but he had ruined her life, and she hated him for that. She hated him. No matter how good he might be at massages or anything else.
Donnan seemed to realize that something was wrong, for he backed away from her, putting distance between their bodies where before there had been none. Bernadine heard the creak of leather as he moved as far away from her on the saddle as was possible without falling off it.
Sensing that the brief ceasefire between them was long gone, Donnan stayed blessedly silent for the remainder of the ride, allowing Bernadine to take in the sight of the castle as it slowly rose out of the mist and revealed itself to her.
It was beautiful, but beautiful was such an imprecise word to describe the true grandeur of the place. The castle itself was made of bricks that had faded to a dusky orange color that shone against the dark green of the trees all around. The square and tall building had turrets across the roof and more windows lining the front than was possible to easily count. The road on which they were now riding led straight to the castle entrance; the stones were smooth under the horses’ hooves as they clopped forward.
Tall pine trees and small rose bushes surrounded the path on both sides. Bernadine was admiring the flowers on a bush, which were an intriguing pinkish peach color, when a large white, fluffy head popped out from behind the bush.
“Oh!” she screamed, as a sheep came into view, its eyes glaring at her like she was an idiot for making such a fuss. Up ahead, she could see a man running toward them, yelling what sounded like, “Sally!”
Bernadine heard Donnan grumble something behind her, and she turned to find him stepping down from the horse and going over to the bush, where he grabbed the sheep by the scruff and led it away from the thorns.
“Brodie, what did I tell ye about keepin’ better watch of the livestock?” Donnan said as the man drew closer to them. He was young, no older than fifteen years, with a red face and a nervous smile. His hair was a shocking orange color, and freckles seemed to cover him from head to toe, visible on even his lips and ears.
“Sorry, sir. I looked away for a second and she was gone! I think she can sense the excitement in the barn and it’s scarin’ her,” Brodie said, crouching down to pet the ewe, apparently named Sally, on the back.
“Aye, I’d be the same in her position, seein’ a glimpse into her future,” Donnan said. “Get her back to the barn and I’ll come out when I can. And take this one with ye,” he said, taking the injured horse’s reins and handing them off. “Poor thing’s done somethin’ to his hoof,” he said
The younger man tipped his hat and ushered the sheep up the path, her wool swaying slightly in the breeze that ruffled the trees around them.
“What was that all about?” Bernadine couldn’t help but ask as Donnan hopped back onto the horse.
“It’s lambin’ season,” he said, flicking the reins and easing them into a canter, their speed much faster now that the injured horse was no longer in their party. “Sally isnae quite old enough yet, bein’ only a year or so, but many of the other ewes are bearin’ their wee ones this time of year.”
“And you think that seeing her companions in such a state has given her a fright?” Bernadine asked, her eyes following their approach up to the castle.
“Well, would ye no’ be similarly afeared seein’ yer friend in such a state?” he asked.
“I confess I have not had the pleasure of seeing any of my acquaintances with child,” Bernadine admitted. She did not add that childbirth terrified her exceedingly. It was, after all, what had killed her mother. Lady Nibley had died moments after Bernadine came into the world, the doctors claiming that her body had simply not been strong enough to handle the stress and trauma of birth.
Bernadine worried that the same fate would befall her when the time came, which was the main reason why she was taking a rather measured attitude to the whole prospect of matrimony. She had to find a man who would be a good father to her child, a good enough father to make up for the possible absence of a mother. And judging by the suitors she had found so far, it was going to be rather a difficult search.
Thankfully, Bernadine was distracted from continued morbid thoughts by a sudden darkness. It seemed they were in a tunnel of some kind.
“The stalls are just the other side of this, lass,” Donnan shouted, no doubt trying to be heard over the echo of the horse’s hooves in the small space.
A moment later, they were back out in the open, with light and fresh air filling Bernadine’s senses. Except… the air did not appear to be so fresh. In fact, it smelled horribly. This was perhaps due to the fact the area seemed riddled with animals and less-than-sparkling-clean people.
Up ahead was a large horse barn, where Bernadine could see figures flitting in and out, carrying pales of water, baskets of what must have been oats and apples. The men were dressed like Donnan, in shirts and kilts, but they did not appear nearly so well bathed as he, even considering that Donnan had not washed since they lef
t England.
In front of them were miles upon miles of rolling hills, dotted with white puffs of wool that were no doubt sheep, as well as black and white cows. To the right was a barn, where Bernadine imagined the truly bad smells were coming from, but despite the assault to her olfactory senses, she found the scene before her rather…quaint. Calming.
It reminded her of home, back in Cornwall, where her horses were stabled, where she and Guinevere helped in the garden, and…Guinevere.
Bernadine closed her eyes and silently cursed herself. She was ashamed to admit that these last few days, she had been focusing so much on worrying over her father that she hadn’t even stopped to think how her absence must have been affecting the woman.
Guinevere would be ashamed of my selfishness.
Guinevere had taught her how to knit, embroider, and curtsy. She would read Bernadine stories every night before bed, helped her practice her French, clapped whenever she played piano, no matter how badly and Bernadine was a truly dreadful musician. Guinevere had been there for her whole life, devoted completely and she had repaid her by entirely disregarding how the woman must feel about Bernadine’s absence.
Daring the Highlander: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 4